Master of Sin by Maggie Robinson Read Free Book Online Page B

run. There was no home farm to oversee, no tenants’ roofs to repair, no horses in the stable whickering for a run. The decaying outbuilding to Gull House might garner his attention for a while, although it was more suited to keeping chickens than prime horseflesh. A few chickens wouldn’t go amiss, though. Andrew didn’t truly fancy eating seabirds’ stolen eggs. Perhaps a cow, milk for Marc since Miss Peartree didn’t seem to think much of goat’s milk.
    He’d have to go home and make a list. A long one. And he might solicit Miss Peartree’s opinion, if he could focus on a spot over her head and not into her lovely gold-flecked eyes. Sighing, he chose the long way home, hoping the girl would be properly dressed by the time he got back.
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    After a two-hour tramp exploring the coast of his new domain, Andrew was ready to warm up and eat. His stomach was more than empty, his fingers were frozen, and his gentleman’s boots had done nothing to repel the frost on the uneven grassy path. He fumbled at the kitchen door, then held back his laughter as he interrupted his housekeeper and his governess in the middle of a bilingual argument.
    Be careful what you wish for . Miss Peartree was now draped in an oversized pea-green sack, the sleeves rolled up in a bunch to expose her dainty wrists. Mrs. MacLaren was running basting stitches up one side of the dress in a futile attempt to fit it to the little governess. There would be enough fabric left over for at least another exceedingly ugly garment should they decide to cut into it, if Mrs. MacLaren didn’t cut into Miss Peartree first. It was clear Miss Peartree was not a bit grateful for her new clothes.
    â€œI hope it’s safe to come in now,” he murmured.
    Miss Peartree shot him a scornful look but said nothing. Marc looked up shyly from his pot on the floor and then resumed banging. Andrew couldn’t decide what was worse—the domestic intranquility of his servants or his son’s attempts at percussion.
    â€œCouldn’t we find him something less noisy to occupy him with? A set of blocks or something?” he shouted over the noise.
    â€œYou should ask Mr. MacLaren to make him some. He has his tools with him today,” Miss Peartree shouted back. Curious, Marc stopped his drumming and stared at the adults. Andrew tamped down his desire to pick his son off the floor. It was enough that the boy wasn’t crying when he looked at him.
    â€œWhat an excellent idea, Miss Peartree. I will directly after I finally have my breakfast. Lunch now, I guess. I was somehow distracted from food earlier. The condition of the kitchen quite—shocked me. I expect I should apologize.” Not that he was a bit sorry. Miss Peartree had been a tempting morsel.
    Miss Peartree took a step forward, and Mrs. MacLaren yanked her back by her skirts. “I left a sign on the door, sir. I never expected you to take the back stairs.”
    â€œNo harm done. In fact, there’s a great improvement to your person. The bath has done wonders for you. I wish I could say the same about that—that—shall we call it a dress?”
    Miss Peartree’s lips twitched. “I call it an abomination. You should see what else this evil woman brought me to wear. It seems she still hates me.”
    â€œYou must admit it’s better than what you had.”
    She sniffed and pinched the material that hid her hips. “I’m not sure about that.”
    Mrs. MacLaren threw up her hands, stuck her needle back into a pincushion, and snapped the lid of her sewing box shut. She said something in Gaelic with finality.
    â€œGetting you to stand still is a trial, I take it.” Andrew went to the sideboard, lifted the linen napkin from a loaf, and began to cut a slice. He was gently shooed away by Mrs. MacLaren, who pointed to a kitchen chair. Andrew obeyed and watched the older woman assemble a simple lunch for him of bread and